


Recommitment

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Brimstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-19
Updated: 2003-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Sarah T.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Recommitment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sarah T.

 

 

Fandom: Brimstone  
Pairing: Stone/Satan  
Rating: PG 

Recommitment 

It's a little weird how many churches the chase has led him to over the years, and this one--like all the others--is in ruins by the time Zeke manages to wrestle his gun away from Gareth and shoot. 

Almost three years, and he's still not entirely comfortable performing this particular style of execution. 

The brightest light he'd ever seen. He's long had suspicions that the guy in charge of this whole thing decided to make him target the eyes on purpose. 

He wonders--not for the first time--why the light that comes out of the eyes of truly evil damned souls is the same brilliant white as the light that comes from the eyes of damned souls like him. He's met plenty of both, and it's always the same: white, maybe with a little blue tinge at the edges, and pretty. Except for the flash-stink of sulphur, like walking onto a shooting range at the end of the day. 

It must be a strong smell, for him to even notice it. He wonders what it smells like to mortals--or to people who haven't spent fifteen years in the noncorporeal equivalent of pits of brimstone. 

"I wouldn't worry about them, Ezekiel." The burn of Gareth's name removing itself from his left shoulder makes Zeke shift a little as he half-turns, still seated on the floor by the altar, and sees Satan examining a dented censer like someone's trying to sell it to him. "They're unlikely even to notice it, what with the cloying stench of incense they're used to around here." 

Zeke flexes his shoulder a little, just to feel the stretch of his skin where the name used to be; then he gets his hands on the floor and pushes himself to his feet. "I didn't think you liked churches." 

"What's not to like?" Losing interest, Satan tosses the censer onto the heap of rubble that resulted from Gareth throwing Zeke into the organ. Turning back with a smile and a gesture at their surroundings, he adds, "Especially after you're through with them. Your deft touch always leaves them so enjoyably informal." Behind him, the pulpit collapses in on itself. Satan tilts his head. "But you do realize, Ezekiel, that I don't pay your damage expenses." 

Zeke holsters his gun. "You hardly pay my living expenses." 

"Ah--but you're not alive." 

"Tell that to my landlady." Zeke sighs, and rubs his hands over his face. It's been a long day, and he doesn't know if he's up to bantering with the devil. "I've just...all this time, and I've never seen you in a church. I guess I figured...the whole God thing..." 

Satan makes a genteel snorting sound and falls into step with him as he starts down the aisle toward the door. "Well it's not like God's _here_ , now, is it, Ezekiel? It's a building, a man-made structure that keeps the rain off. One of countless others man imbues with a false sense of sanctity, just so he can claim divine approval of the things he does within: the baptisms, the discordant singing, the bake sales." He returns Zeke's chuff of exasperation with a cheerful grin. "The altar boys..." 

"Okay, okay, I get it--" 

"The weddings." 

This draws Zeke up short, just as they reach the last row of pews, and he stares at Satan's back as he continues on for a few steps before stopping and glancing theatrically about as if Zeke had disappeared into thin air. When he turns, the exaggerated expression of puzzlement on his face sets Zeke's teeth on edge. "Fine. Yes, we would've been a little past crystal today, but still not quite at china. Haven't you found another topic to bother me with yet?" 

The devil's look of utter surprise is genuine, and for a brief moment Zeke feels an unaccustomed sense of triumph. But then-- "Why Mr Stone, I had no idea you were so well-read in matters of etiquette! Maybe you can help me remember: does bronze come before pottery? Because historically speaking--" 

With a curse, Zeke starts moving again, planting one hand in the centre of Satan's chest and pushing him forcefully out of his way. 

"I only mention it, Ezekiel, because your charming ex-wife and I had a run-in today." 

Zeke freezes mid-step. "What?" 

"On the street, outside a bookshop I frequent. The place has built up a reputation for its occult section--which actually isn't anything special--and I quite enjoy watching members of the religious right picketing outside--" 

Without even thinking about it, Zeke spins on his heel and takes Satan by the collar, pushes him backward until he fetches up against a wall. "What. About. Rosalyn," he growls, and is tempted to just hit the guy--or try to, at least--when Satan chuckles. 

"Relax, Ezekiel. She got caught up in the crowd and dropped one of her grocery bags. Gentleman that I am, I helped her pick things up and continue on her way." 

Zeke narrows his eyes, then gives Satan one more push before letting go and backing away. "You need to stay away from Ros." 

"And you, Mr Stone, need to remember that you let her go for a _reason_. A damn good one, if I recall correctly." Arranging himself until he's leaning comfortably against the wall, Satan meets Zeke's eyes and shrugs. "Personally, I thought your decision was quite noble. Altruistic, even. And you've stuck by it, for which I heartily commend you." 

Zeke stares. "Am I supposed to thank you for that?" 

"The thing is," Satan continues blithely, "you'll go for days, weeks, months even, upholding your own decision and standing firm...only to undo all the progress you've made because the calendar is so insensitive as to roll around to the anniversary of your marriage, or the day you met, or the day she made you blueberry pancakes for breakfast." He shakes his head, giving Zeke an arch look. "Unlife goes on, Ezekiel. You can't pine after her forever." 

"I don't plan to." Turning, Zeke stalks a few steps through the church's doors and into its foyer, then turns back. "I never planned to do that. See, there was this deal I made that would let me get my life back--" 

Suddenly Satan is right in front of him again, and Zeke still hasn't gotten used to _that_ , either. "But who knows how long that will take, hmm?" he says, all amusement gone from his rasping voice. "Let's face it, Ezekiel: whatever expectations either of us had going into our little arrangement, the besting of Rebezar Gareth has only nudged you over the halfway mark. We need to be realistic." 

"What, you're saying--you're saying you're not going to give me a second chance?" He can't help it; Zeke lets out a snort of disbelieving laughter. "You're screwing me over now? I half-expected it when the job was done, but-- _now_? Jesus _Chri--_ " 

And he finds himself pressed against the wall, Satan's very warm and very dry hand over his mouth, Satan's face so close to his own that, if it weren't for the hand in the way, their noses would be touching. "Now now, Ezekiel, there's no call for that," Satan says, in the tone of voice that has never managed to sound more disapproving--even mockingly so--than pleased. "I'm not reneging on our deal. What would be the point?" He takes his hand away from Zeke's mouth, but doesn't step back. "I'm simply _suggesting_ that you examine your priorities, your goals, and your methods," he murmurs, "and make the necessary...adjustments." 

Zeke breathes against the surprising weight of Satan's wiry body, and stares unblinkingly into his eyes. With the devil this close, there's nowhere else to look. "Stay away from Ros, and I'll think about it," he says finally, after a few more unnecessary breaths. 

"Done!" The devil steps away with a flourish and a grin, and Zeke can only shake his head. 

"How do you even have time to mess me around so much, anyway?" he asks, taking his time to straighten himself out and move away from the wall. "Aren't you supposed to be trapped in Hell a lot more, suffering for your own crimes against God? And _not talking_ because there's a sinner in your mouth?" 

Satan shakes his head, tsking fondly. "Ezekiel, Ezekiel. Introducing you to the classics will be the death of me yet. So to speak." Leaning forward, he lays one finger alongside his nose. "I'm _never_ suffering when a sinner's in my mouth." 

And Zeke barely has time to see the wink before Satan is gone. 

End. 

 


End file.
